Short Hulls Poems

Heavy Heavenly happy hulls humbly hopes hopefully

1/24/21
Written word by James Edward Lee Sr  2021...

Read More

Untitled 

A fire spray of
hulls; who is in the feeder?
A nettled sparrow. 

                  Carol Mahan...

Read More

Hush!  Hope's  The Humble Hulls hope hopefully souls so?


4/22/21
Written words by James Edward Lee Sr  2021...

Read More

Old ships come to die
on a silent beach;
once they ferried freight.
Side by side, they lie
broken hulls; now each
bide their rusty fate.



Image #1...

Read More

For the guest of the boat owner...
Waves lapping on hulls
Water dances all around
It sings me to sleep


For the boat owner...
Asleep on the deep
When on a boat at anchor
Never deep asleep...

Read More

Mice, rats, winter day clouds, coats, shawls.
Gray pants, tunics, bugles play calls.
Horses neigh for action hate stalls.
Ride hard brave scout.
Paint on iron battleship hulls
make rust stay out....

Read More

They sit, seldom still, naked
yet not silent - beckoning,
like a wind chime concert
of tapping halyards, 
wave slapped hulls and
groaning lines where freedom hints
to their captains, "To sea, to sea"....

Read More

Harbouring
relationships
upon the ocean
floor.

Beneath the frothing,
rolling waves
that pound my broken
core.

Polluted waters
sifting pain,
tear the hulls
apart.

Coursing wildly
through my veins,
leaves just a broken
heart....

Read More

Markmanship, hunting and nature walks
are the activities of choice. 
Anything is fine as long as Dad 
and son are together,
Two peas in a pod.
Round green, black eyes,
purple hulls, zipper full.
Any kind is good in its own way....

Read More

Astonied for blinking your eyes
Sab sequently you welcome the blinds
Tension hulls and bury their hearts
O's defined their titles
Naming silent motions
If you can live; really you can die
Ending defines success and failure
Defying the recognized surprise....

Read More

the moored hulls
drop
down in the haze

rise again
like wet birds

the boats slip
in and out

of the mist
come back painted by
distant seas

wet ropes squeak
rigging rattles as they list
water is shipped

whitecaps last seen
in a shipwrecked 
china teacup...

Read More

River boats

drop down into sunken fog,

return
as buoyant as swimming seagulls.

A deep diving sky
spindrifts the hulls,
decks now ship airy waves
from far away seas.

The craft ride high and low
on this muted swell,

a cresting last beheld

in a shipwrecked China      teacup....

Read More

Precious counter-weights

ships utilized for sailing,

ballast stones got dumped offshore.

But in empty hulls

sailors found common boulders 

held incalculable worth.


(Sedoka)


03/14/2020
Pick-A-Title, Vol 15 - Sedoka - Poetry Contest
Sponsored by: Edward Ibeh
Title Chosen -  "Ballast"...

Read More

Picture a junkyard in your mind
a weed infested field covered with rusting hulls
that once were dear
to someone
some met with violent ends
wrecked in the prime of their lives
others were simply cast aside
no longer needed
or wanted
superimpose a homeless shelter
over the scene of the junkyard
how strange
they overlap and become
the same...

Read More

Ode To Our Raccoon’s
By: Tom Wright 
1-18-2020

Around two thirty most mornings,
I gaze out the rear window and see.
A family of Raccoon’s foraging,
on pecans from under our tree.

Pecan hulls litter the sidewalks,
but of these morsels I won’t deprive.
For I realize It’s one of God’s creatures,
doing its best to just survive.
...

Read More

It greets me at daybreak
That subtle stench of fog
Tinged by yesterday’s fish.
A rhythmic chatter
Tide tormented boats
Counting coup on weary hulls.
Voices lost in a drone of tedium.
Another day captured
In the same colors, and textures
Of an endless moment.
Time, entrenched in a now,
Tethered to a then
Anchored to a distant shore.


©8/12/2023...

Read More

The hulls of small boats
drop down into the morning fog
then return like rising seagulls.
The moored
slip in and out of the mist
then return painted
by a deep diving sky.

Sinking or flying, the small craft
slip through our vision
like leaking ghosts.

They roll upon an obscure air
shipping cloudy waves,
a swell last seen
in shipwrecked teacups.
...

Read More

I listen to Door County sing
to Death’s door, where waters meet
Green Bay, Lake Michigan and everything,
wonders of the north I greet.
I listen to fathers and their sons
the builders of ships in Sturgeon Bay,
the hulls they build so strong
and the joy when they are sent on their way.
The Maritime Museum tells the tales
of many brave young adventurers
who from the shores set sail....

Read More

A slow twist of an invisible slide
and the hulls again escape,
drop down into the morning haze,
return as gray gulls rising.

The moored boats
slip in and out of the fog
as easily as ocean legends
then come back
painted by a distant sea.

Sinking or flying
the small craft slip through a sky
only as wide as the river,

but when they return
they ship water last seen
in a shipwrecked teacup....

Read More

Households unhitch so readily.
We watch incredulous as they float off,
hulls creaking, 
rafters cracking like wind-lashed rigging.

Where we once believed roots gripped bedrock
now shiftless boards bob in the swell. 
Domesticity tumbles out.
Bed springs gape, 
a chest-of-drawers turns, inside out.

The everyday innards of a dwelling, face up,
barely floating:
a sure sign of those about to drown....

Read More

a thunderstorm passing over -
gun turrets flash
gray hulls rumble and roll
above tumultuous clouds

evening commences to weep -
a damp emotive capsizing
that barely touches upturned faces

as seafaring battles go
it was a sky-skirmish
of near misses

a backwash of electric fizz
the distant sound 
of sailors shouting for rum

light blinks 
shipping damp echoes
that drip
into a salty bucket
of silence...

Read More

Does anything look more serene
Than sailboats in a harbor scene?
Their stark white jibs and hulls that glide
A sense of peace and calm provide.

I've only seen them from the shore,
Not having been in one before,
But I am grateful they're a'sea
When near the water I can be.

Though other boats with foamy wakes
Look lovely, I would wager stakes 
That none of them with sudsy trails 
Could soothe like any boat with sails....

Read More

The cogs of time
are creaking to life.
The time has come for me to shoulder my
responsibility and become a man.
No, it hasn't.
It is time to shut up.
It's time for everyone to shut up.
Not time to think; thinking is an eternal funnel.
Time to grind the stones;
harvest the aeons of work.
The bounties of our travels,
Endless musty rooms of crystals and trinkets
are pulverized by the hulls
of twisted, shapeless juggernauts....

Read More

Back Creek Sounds 
Rhythmic wave crescendos, 
Like dynamic static of radios, 
Tinkling and gurgling noises, 
As liquid over rocks poises, 
Ospreys shriek at laughing gulls, 
Slapping water on slicing hulls, 
Burping diesels add staccatos, 
Winds strum mast-stay legatos, 
Sails fill or flap by whispered pressure, 
Bouys gong in the background with hauture, 
As my toes on the sand go crunch, 
Shouts my stomach, “Seafood for lunch”....

Read More

moored hulls sink lower
in a rising haze

as ghost ships
they slowly surface
when the sky
finds a patch of clarity

again and again
the vessels slip
in and out of the mist
only to come back painted by
distant seas
farther horizons
that ship deep-sea spume
over anchored hulls

wet ropes creak
rigging rattles
as a foaming fog washes
over prows

unseen gulls call
summoning visions
of whitecaps last seen
in a shipwrecked
china teacup...

Read More